


They don't know the worlds I conquer (When I'm kissing you)

by ElephantLoveMedley



Series: Nothing matters but you [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElephantLoveMedley/pseuds/ElephantLoveMedley
Summary: Kevin had cried that night, after those words.Jean knew it was his fault, but couldn't understand why, after all he had just gifted Kevin the world.Kevin told him that sometimes the world wasn't enough.That night was the night Jean learnt who Hephaestion was.(Or: Jean and Kevin's shared lives and struggles from Jean's POV)
Relationships: Jean Moreau & Renee Walker, Kevin Day/Jean Moreau
Series: Nothing matters but you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657633
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	They don't know the worlds I conquer (When I'm kissing you)

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to these songs while writing:
> 
> Nothing matter but you -The young veins  
> Always -Panic! at the disco  
> Mistery of love -Sufjan Stevens

Jean had thought about it.

He had thought about it all the time in the nest. Killing himself was not an option: the ravens travelled in pairs. Besides, he wouldn't even dare to think about what would happen to his partner if he managed it.

Kevin had told him once that some cultures used to bury the bride along the husband when he died. It wasn't seen as a sacrifice, but as an act of love. Companionship even in death.

Jean didn't think that Riko knew what love was. Jean wasn't sure to know it himself.

Kevin had also said that, sometimes, to avoid going to war, soldiers used to injure themselves permanently: break a leg, cut off two or three fingers.

Jean was afraid of what would happen to him when he became expendable, not useful on the court. He thought he preferred to live another day knowing what torture would follow than live in fear of what novelty might come.

Kevin had also told him that people pretended to be insane to avoid going to war.

Jean thought he didn't need to pretend.

Too many times Kevin had yelled at him for his behaviour. 

"That's crazy, Jean! Drop the accent!"

"You're doing this to yourself, stop antagonizing him!"

"Why did you show up late?! Have you gone mad?!"

Sometimes even Kevin's voice dropped to a whisper.

"I'm so sorry, Jean."

He had said it one too many times, so Jean stopped understanding the meaning. They were just hollow words now. Instead, he usually smiled, cupped Kevin's cheek and let him drag his body to the showers to wash away the blood and dirt and the guilt and everything else Jean tried so hard to forget.

In those moments Kevin was so gentle with him and Jean couldn't help but smile, hum french lullabies under his breath, and ignore Kevin's pleading voice.

He wouldn't stop.

Sometimes Kevin wouldn't beg him to stop, sometimes he would just yell at Jean's current partner to get out of the room, get out of the way and let them be. 

Sometimes it was then that tears started spilling from Kevin's eyes, hands tangled in Jean's long, dirty hair. So Jean would sing to him, his lullabies, because that's what his mother would do for him when he was upset, but Kevin always started sobbing louder. Jean couldn't understand why, but he wouldn't stop. He held on tighter and started rocking them to the rhythm of his voice, of his mother's soothing words, ignoring the blood on the sheets and the stinging the movement provoked.

Sometimes he wondered if Kevin cried because he didn't understand the words. He couldn't get the meaning. So Jean started teaching him.

Kevin didn't stop crying at Jean's lullabies even after his French lessons. Jean couldn't understand why, but he never stopped singing.

He remembered the day Kevin warned him for the first time. That day everything changed: Kevin stopped being there only to pick up the pieces and started trying to keep Jean from shattering. They would meet in the hallways or in the bathroom, Jean would always find a way to shrug his partner off.

Kevin would whisper something in French, something he had overheard the master say to Riko, his plans for Jean.

Jean would never care. He would look at Kevin, smile, hold his face in his hands and talk. Talk about everything, about before. He would ask questions and sometimes Kevin would reply, sometimes he didn't manage, his words would get stuck in his throath and only sobs managed to escape.

Sometimes Jean would sing for him, but he mostly talked, because there was a chance that Kevin would talk back. When Kevin did, he talked about history, about the things he had studied, his version of an alternative dimension, another world to escape to.

Jean didn't have one of those, but he had Kevin. 

Kevin never talked about before, he said he couldn't remember and that the only memories he had were more of a feeling, a sensation, than a situation. Jean didn't care, because he thought that Kevin had never forgotten how to be kind.

Jean was lost. Kevin had left. He couldn't believe it.

He started catching up when Riko bursted in his room in the middle of the night, some of his teammates waiting at the door. Riko had never been so enraged, so scary.

Jean started believing him.

He had never hurt so much. He had never hurt so much as to skip training. He had tried to put on his jersey, but the blood left stains on the black raven over his chest. The master had told him to take off his number and go to bed.

Jean couldn't lift his arms, couldn't stop the tears. He kept on the smile. He collapsed.

He woke up in his bed, a doctor was standing beside it. Riko wasn't there and he was afraid he might come. He tried getting up, but machines started beeping and the doctor forced him down. He fought with all he had, he had to go to the court. He felt a sting in his arm and his eyelids became heavy. He thought he understood now why Kevin had ran, he was afraid he would never be allowed on the court again. He was afraid of what would follow.

He thought he forgave Kevin and he fell asleep.

  
He didn't know for how long he had slept, but when he woke up his cuts wouldn't bleed anymore and some of his bruises were new.

He touched one right over his heart and thought Kevin must have left it. He wanted to tell him that he forgave him, he understood now.

He fell asleep again, kicking and screaming.

He thought he heard Kevin sing him lullabies.

He woke up again then and when he tried to get off the bed nothing beeped. The doctor wasn't there, his partner wasn't there. 

He had to see Kevin.

He got up and put on a pair of sweatpants, he didn't bother with a t-shirt, he didn't have time. He walked to Kevin's room, the one he shared with Riko, but no one was there.

He sat on Kevin's bed, he knew immediately he shouldn't have, but he was hurting. After a few minutes he glanced at the clock on the opposite wall: practice had just begun. He took one of Kevin's books, he would wait for him, he had to tell him.

It was Alexander the Great, with Kevin it was always Alexander the Great. Kevin liked reading about all the places he got to see, about traditions. He liked the legends about Bukefalos, his horse, and how he gained its trust. He liked to read about how his empire collapsed after his death, he always said that it proved how unique he was, how skilled, even blessed. Kevin admired him. 

Jean couldn't even keep the book open, it was too heavy.

He closed it and clutched it to his chest, besides he liked it better when Kevin spoke to him about it.

He remembered the rush of joy and excitement in Kevin's voice, how he would laugh at facts that Jean didn't know. He remembered how he had started trading him facts in exchange for french lessons.

He remembered why he was hurting.

He remembered that Kevin had left.

He remembered that he had forgiven him.

He held on tight to the book and waited for Riko. He couldn't move.

Kevin's book was now sitting on Jean's nightstand. He didn't manage to get all of the blood out of the cover, but at least he still had it. 

Riko had increased in violence, but the master didn't want to lose another player, so, what Riko couldn't get through fists, he got through threaths. Jean lived in fear, but he was used to it, he smiled through it. The only difference was that now he didn't have green eyes to look in and a shaved face to caress. He missed looking at the 2 under Kevin's eyes.

Jean used to tell him that it was for the two of them. Kevin didn't believe him.

Kevin had told him once that three was the number of perfection. Jean never believed him.

He was getting ready for the banquet, he knew he was finally going to see him. Riko had beaten him to unconsciousness, till he had promised to behave.

He had managed a bargain: he would behave, if he could spend some time alone with Kevin.

Riko had bargained back: he could spend some time alone with Kevin, if he used it to explain the terms of Nathaniel Wesninski's stay with the Ravens.

They had shook on it. Riko had still kicked him.

Jean was happy.

Kevin had managed to not cry when he saw the bruises around Jean's wrists.

Jean had told him about his book and how he was sorry he had ruined it, Kevin's eyes filled with tears, but he didn't let them fall.

He had hugged him and Jean had whispered against his neck how fitting a nickname Jean Valjean was.

Kevin held him tight then, shaky breaths against Jean's ear. Jean pulled back and smiled at him, cupping Kevin's cheek. 

A tear had escaped then, but they both pretended not to notice.

Jean wasn't sure Neil liked Kevin, even though at the banquet Kevin had told him they were close.

Jean, on the other hand was certain Neil might be a problem. He liked the quick and sharp tongue of their new recruit, but he was afraid that might cause more trouble than necessary.

He thought he understood Kevin now, how he pleaded for Jean to drop his french accent, how worried he was for his well being. Jean was sorry for making Kevin go through it, he knew how anxious he could get, but he never stopped singing. Besides, Neil was defiant, but Kevin still liked him. 

"Does Kevin still like me?"

Nathaniel, no, Neil, looked up at him.

For Jean it was strange to be the one to take care of others' injuries. He remembered how careful Kevin was, how delicate he could be. He remembered looking at Kevin's bloody hand, the last time he saw him, and mourning his precise movements and the feather-soft touch.

But he had seen Kevin play again and his heart had filled with pride and joy. Kevin could never live without Exy and, frankly, Jean thought that Exy had no meaning to exist without Kevin's talent in it.

He could see a bit of it in Neil, the determination, how his only questions and attempts at conversation were to talk strategies.

He cupped Neil's cheek. It was not the same.

"He never talks about you."

 _Oh_. Jean thought. Then he still liked him.

He went back to Neil's injuries and smiled.

He could feel Neil shaking his head, but he didn't care. He couldn't get it.

Kevin was doing everything right.

Neil lifted the book out of Jean's hands and took the letter.

Jean had pleaded with him to keep it safe, a last effort.

Neil was grappling with his consciousness, eyes heavy and swollen from practice and from his tattoo, but Jean needed this, just this once.

He had been with Kevin when he had first read the letter, he had been with Kevin the morning before, stealing it.

He remembered the rhythm of their hearts as they raided Master's office.

He remembered kissing Kevin's hair and cupping his cheeks and singing French words under his breath.

He remembered that night because it was an away game followed by interviews and they couldn't hurt them when there interviews.

That night was the night when Kevin first spoke about his mother. Jean had always thought that the letter was a key to a locket on Kevin's heart and now that he had it he could finally remember.

Sadly, Jean also remembered that night as the night when Kevin understood that escaping was an option, but Kevin wasn't property and Jean still was. 

He held Kevin's cheek in his hands, stroked the tattoo under his eye and told him to go.

He told him to run and to conquer and then, when the world was at his feet, he could come back to Jean. Only then. Because Jean knew what Kevin was worth and he knew that he would only slow him down, all battered and bruised as he was. 

Kevin had cried that night, after those words.

Jean knew it was his fault, but couldn't understand why, after all he had just gifted Kevin the world.

Kevin told him that sometimes the world wasn't enough.

That night was the night Jean learnt who Hephaestion was.

Kevin still hadn't conquered the world, but Renee still came to get Jean.

Jean had spent a lot of time texting her, praying for her, praying with her, but he had never wanted Kevin's number. He had never asked for it, he had never asked for Kevin or how he was doing. He never did it because Neil had told him that Kevin never spoke about him and that meant that they were winning. 

Kevin had told him that, during the war, spies would swear on anything to never betray their partners, to never let the mission fail.

Kevin and Jean's mission was to survive, to conquer the world and maybe do it together.

Kevin had also told him that well trained spies were willing to die in order to keep their partner's name a secret, because only then would they assure their partner's safety.

Jean knew that night, after Riko had slashed, kicked and used him, that he had to be as brave as a spy.

He was going to lose, so he called Renee.

It was either that or slashing his wrists, but he had read Kevin's book and he knew that Alexander died just a few days after Hephaestion.

He wanted Kevin to conquer, so he dialed Renee.

Jean's thoughts were a mess. He had spent so much time drifting in and out of consciousness that he didn't know what year it was. 

Sometimes he would jolt awake from nightmares, sometimes from pain, but most of the time he woke up in a frenzy desperately searching for Kevin's book.

He needed to look at the colourful annotations in the margins, needed to feel the smooth pages on his hands. The first time he had tried he had left blood there, over the first page. He had wished every number one would bleed red.

Sometimes he'd woke to gentle fingers on his face or his chest or his back. Most of the time it was Abby, most of the times he was too sedated to react to the touch and he would be the only one knowing of his panic.

Other times, however he would wake up to a silver cross, rainbow hair and a gentle voice.

He loved Renee and he loved her visits, but he never managed to talk to her. He would cry and cry and cry, and then he would feel free, liberated like after confession.

He liked these visits, but they were not the ones he loved.

The ones he loved were the ones filled with green eyes and soft french words. He loved them because he could reply to that, he could reply to French, he wasn't betraying anyone.

He loved those visits because Kevin had cried the first time he had seen him, he had cried when Jean jolted awake still clutching his book, he had cried when Jean had reached for his hand, but then he had smiled.

Jean loved when Kevin smiled, so he smiled back.

Kevin never let those tears fall.

One day Kevin walked in, subdued and steady at the same time, bottle of vodka in hand.

That night he promised Jean that everything would change, that they were finally going to be free: Kevin would win.

Jean smiled at him, nodded at the book beside his bed and told Kevin to go.

The next time he saw him, Kevin's 3 was gone, a Queen sitting on his cheek, a spark in his eyes. He looked exhausted, but he was bubbling with unrestrained joy.

Jean knew they had won. 

That night Kevin layed beside him in bed, hands strong, but careful, just as Jean had remembered.

Kevin didn't cry that night. He held Jean's hand, looked him in the eyes and started singing the softest lullaby that Jean had ever teached him, the one he used for nightmares and tears, for the things that stayed in your head.

Kevin didn't cry that night, he just held him and told him: "Tu as gagné, Jean. Maintenant nous pouvons dire au monde. C'est le nôtre."

**Author's Note:**

> "You have won, Jean. We can tell the world now. It is ours."


End file.
